


Bright Ideas

by Annide



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annide/pseuds/Annide
Summary: Because Malcolm is Malcolm, he goes after a suspect on his own and gets taken. And then JT helps.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/JT Tarmel
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88





	Bright Ideas

When Malcolm regained consciousness, he was sitting on the floor, his hands tied around a pipe behind him. His head hurt from the blow that had knocked him out. The situation wasn't all bad though, it looked like he found the unsub's hideout. Now, if the others could find him before he got killed, that would make this a lot better.

"Thought you could come after me on your own, did you? Without any of your little cop friends knowing where you went. How's that working out for you?"

"Not as well as I'd hope, I'll be honest with you."

The man laughed. He was your standard middle-aged white man serial killer, nothing the NYPD hadn't gone after before. They had been calling him Scar, both because the only distinguishing mark he had according to their witness was a scar across his face, but also because, just like the famous lion, he liked to play with his victims before ending their life. Malcolm knew whatever was going to happen would be painful.

"Do you think your hand will keep shaking if I break it?"

Malcolm tried not to show any fear. And he knew answering that nothing would stop the tremor wouldn't change the fact he was going to break his hand. Scar cuffed Malcolm's left hand to the pipe and untied the right one. He then left for a few minutes, during which Malcolm tried and failed to get himself free, and came back with a sledgehammer. Malcolm backed away as fast as he could, until his back hit the wall.

"Don't think you can get away from me, boy."

Scar walked to him and sat on his legs to keep him still. When the hammer hit his hand, a scream escaped Malcolm's lips and tears filled his eyes. He let his head fall back against the wall, eyes to the ceiling. There was so much pain, too much pain. And Malcolm was so scared. It wouldn't stop. This man would keep hurting him until he died. There was no escape. It was all too much and he passed out.

When he came to again, Scar was sitting with his back to him, eating dinner or whatever meal it was supposed to be. Malcolm had lost any kind of idea of time. He didn't know how long he'd been in this cabin, only that he was cold and hungry. And his right hand hurt like hell. Especially when the tremor acted up.

"So I see it's still shaking." Scar said as he rose from his chair. "Well, at least now we know."

The man took out a knife and put it against Malcolm's neck, who instinctively tried to back away, but he was already at the wall. Malcolm could feel the cold metal of the blade as Scar let it slide slowly down his chest, cutting through all the buttons of his dress shirt. He then put the knife under Malcolm's chin and forced him to look up at him.

"How many cuts do you think I can put in your skin before your friends find us? Do you think you'll survive long enough for them to get here?"

Somehow, this gave Malcolm hope. Maybe it was the pain, the exhaustion, the cold or all of it, but it sounded like the man expected the NYPD to find this place. Malcolm had thought he would taunt him with sentences like 'your friends will never find you' or 'how many cuts will it take for you to die'. Until now he'd believed Scar had brought him someplace hidden, where he thought they'd never be found. This was different. It seemed the man hoped Gil, Dani and JT would follow his trace and show up here only to find Malcolm's still warm body. It was good. It meant there was a chance. If he could just hang on long enough, they would save him.

"Say something." The man slapped him hard.

Malcolm refused to talk. There was nothing to answer to anything the man said. And he was tired. Oh so tired.

"Alright. If you won't talk, maybe I can make other sounds come out of your mouth."

Scar got up and went out the front door, which he left opened. It had been early in the afternoon when Malcolm was taken, but night had fallen since. He could feel a cold breeze on his exposed chest and he shivered. The man came back with a rope and smiled at the sight of Malcolm, hurt, shivering, vulnerable.

"Not looking so smart now, are you?"

He slapped Malcolm again, hard enough to make him fall to the ground, and uncuffed him. He took hold of his broken hand, pulled him to the center of the room and wrapped the rope tightly around his wrists. When Malcolm had the instinctive reaction to try moving away from the man and the pain he was inflicting to him, Scar kicked him in the stomach.

"Don't try anything, boy. I can render you immobile if I need to."

He kicked him a few more times, for good measure, and because he clearly enjoyed hearing whimpers escape Malcolm's mouth. When he was done tying up his wrists, the man raised him up and suspended him to a hook on the ceiling. To keep his weight on his feet instead of his wrists, Malcolm had to stand on tiptoe. It was uncomfortable, but it hurt a lot less than feeling the pull on his broken hand, on his tired wrists and on his painful stomach, possibly with cracked ribs.

"Now, let's see if I can get a reaction from you."

The man cut through Malcolm's skin slowly down his chest. It wasn't all that deep, but the amount of time it took was excruciating. Malcolm raised his head up to look at the ceiling. He knew Scar liked that. He liked watching the pain on his face. He liked seeing him so wanting to get away, but powerless to make the pain stop. These were all things that were in the profile.

Scar was a sadist, he felt pleasure inflicting pain to his victims. And he never did any of it with murder in mind. It wasn't the goal. The longer they lasted, the better. Death was just something that happened to spoil the fun. Every human being had a limit of how much pain, blood loss, cold, hunger and sleep deprivation they could tolerate. Eventually they couldn't handle it anymore, their body gave way and they died. And he disposed of them almost respectfully, like a child who's sad their toy got too broken to keep playing with.

Malcolm felt the knife cut through again. He tried biting his lips to stop himself from screaming, but it didn't work. The man was taking his time. Going deeper and deeper, slower and slower. It was excruciating, almost unbearable. Malcolm wished he'd just get it over with, but alas every sound he made, every uncontrollable reaction to the pain he had, only encouraged Scar to keep this pace. Assured him that it was the most satisfying method.

As it turned out, the team was in the woods looking for the cabin. They were walking slowly, looking for any clue at all as to which direction it might be in, when they heard a scream. They stopped in their tracks for a second, exchanging looks with one another, unsure they had really heard what they thought they had, worried of what it could mean if they did. There was another scream and they started running toward it. It was late, they were tired, but all of that disappeared when they heard Malcolm scream. He was alive. They weren't too late.

"NYPD, put your hands up!"

The door burst open. Malcolm felt his muscles relax. He was safe now. Scar let the knife fall to the ground, raised his hands and turned around to face the cops. Dani handcuffed him. JT cut out the rope tied around Malcolm's wrist and caught him in his arms when he fell, unable to hold his own weight anymore.

"Bright, are you alright?" Gil asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Malcolm smiled. "You found me in time."

"I'll call for an ambulance to meet us at the road. We'll help you get there."

"It's alright, Gil." JT said. "I'll carry him. He doesn't weigh that much, and his blood is already all over my clothes."

Not only did Malcolm have two long gashes on his torso, but the man also had time to add a few on his arms during the time it took them to get there. The sleeves of his shirt made it impossible to see how deep or how long they were, but a considerable amount of blood had spilled down from there and onto his chest. There were also bruises forming on his abdomen, rope burns on his wrists and his broken hand was completely swollen. Even so, Malcolm tried to take a few steps on his own. When he fell, JT caught him again, picked him up and carried him to the ambulance.

JT went to the hospital with Malcolm while Dani and Gil brought Scar back to the precinct. While Malcolm was in surgery for his hand, JT called the Whitlys. Jessica and Ainsley were the ones sitting in the room waiting when he woke up. They looked concerned.

"Mom, Ains."

"Honey, thank god, you're alright."

"You don't have to worry about me, mom, it's not that bad."

"When are you going to stop being so reckless? You could've died."

"Mom's right, Malcolm. You were pretty stupid."

"Fine, I'll admit, going after him alone was not the smartest idea. Next time, I'll call for backup."

"You always say that, but you never do. I don't want to have to report how you got yourself into a dangerous position and died one day."

"I'm sorry I scared you, Ains. I promise I'll try being more careful."

"I would like to know why Ainsley is your emergency contact person, not me. I'm your mother, Malcolm."

"Do we really need to have this conversation now?"

"Yeah, mom, we should let him rest."

Jessica reluctantly agreed to leave, because her son did look terrible, and it was clear he needed sleep. No one from the NYPD visited that day. They all wanted to give him time to get better and they thought his family would be enough visitors for now. They would wait.

They didn't have to wait as long as they'd thought they would to see him. Malcolm showed up at the precinct the next day. His face had a few bruises, his right hand was in a cast and standing and walking seemed to be painful, but his clothes hid the bandages from the cuts well.

"Hey, everyone!" Malcolm said in his usually cheery voice, surprising everyone. "Before you ask, I'm fine, the doctor said I was ready to go home today."

"Bright, what are you doing here?" Gil said.

"I came to see what you were all working on. Do you need my help with anything?"

"No, you shouldn't be here."

"I just told you. The doctor sent me home."

"Yes, I heard. He said you could go home. This isn't your home."

"Close enough. Besides, I would be bored at my place. I need a distraction."

Malcolm had gotten paler since he'd gotten there and had to grab on to the table with his unharmed hand to keep his balance.

"Are you okay?" Dani asked.

"I'm fine. It's a little painful, that's all. I'm perfectly okay to work."

"JT, take him home, make sure he stays there." Gil almost sounded exasperated.

"Why me?" JT protested.

"Because I asked you, now go." Gil insisted.

"Gil, please, I'm fine. I can stay." Malcolm said.

"Both of you go, now."

JT and Malcolm did as they were told, because Gil had his angry dad voice and it was never a good idea to test him when he was like this. So they climbed into JT's car and drove silently to Malcolm's place.

"You don't have to come in, you know."

"Of course, I do. Gil said I had to make sure you stayed in your apartment. I don't want him to get angry at me if he learns I left. Because if I go home, what are the chances that you don't leave?"

Malcolm made a face in lieu of an answer. He definitely wouldn't stay alone in his apartment with no distraction from the pain in his ribs and hand.

"You know, it'd be nice if you could make it just one case without getting hurt."

They got out of the car and started walking up to the apartment.

"It's not like I do it on purpose."

"You're not exactly careful either."

"I can take care of myself, you know. I did pass the FBI training."

"For some reason, I keep forgetting that. Maybe you should try actually using what they taught you sometimes. Stop the bad guy from taking you and trying to break you in half."

"You found me before he did anything too terrible."

"He broke your hand, you won't be able to use it for months." JT said as Malcolm fumbled with the locks on his door and decided just to leave the door unlocked behind them.

"But it'll heal eventually. How did you find me anyway?"

"Dumb son of a bitch had left your phone on. All we had to do is trace it. We thought it might be a trap because it's such a rookie mistake, but it worked out."

They walked around the stairs to the kitchen.

"That explains it."

"Explains what?" JT said.

"What he said to me. He expected you to find us. He was hoping you'd get there right after I died, but fortunately his timing was wrong."

"Are you serious? You're seriously discussing almost dying like it's nothing?"

"I didn't die, JT."

"You got lucky this time. Now sit down before you pass out."

"I'm fine, really."

"You don't look fine. You look fragile as hell."

Malcolm stumbled and JT had to catch him, accidentally making him wince in pain as he put his arms around his middle and brushed his hands against the cracked ribs.

"Yeah, you're fine."

JT helped Malcolm get to his bed.

"Here, lie down for a while."

"I don't need to lie down. Besides, I'm hungry."

"I'll get you food, just stay there."

"You don't have to do that. Please, I can feed myself." Malcolm said as he stood up again.

"Look, Gil told me to take care of you and I will. Now, sit back down. I won't hesitate to use those restraints of yours to force you to stay in bed and rest."

"You would restrain me after what I've just been through?"

"I..." JT was taken aback by that response. For a moment, he had forgotten how Malcolm had gotten all these injuries, how he'd been tied up and tortured. But it didn't change anything. "Yes, if I have to, to help you get better, I will."

"Alright, just wanted to make sure." Malcolm sat back down on the bed, like he had been told to do, and stared at JT as he looked around the kitchen, trying to figure out what to cook.

JT settled on an omelette, it was quick and nutritious. When it was ready, he had to help Malcolm get up on one of the stools in the kitchen. With his cracked ribs, broken hand and deep cuts on both his arms, he had trouble doing it himself, and helping him wasn't easy either, it felt like JT couldn't find a grip to pull him up that didn't make him wince in pain.

"This is very impractical, why don't you have a table?"

"I don't need one, I can eat at the counter or at the coffee table in the living room."

"What about when you have people over?"

"I don't really have guests."

"Doesn't your family ever visit?"

"They do, but they don't stay. We only have family dinners at my mom's."

"Right."

JT sat next to him and they ate in silence for a while. As it turned out, Malcolm didn't have as much of an appetite as he had thought. He was hungry, yes, but he was so drained of energy, it made him feel like his stomach was full and he had trouble getting much in his mouth. He tried though, knowing he needed food, and forced himself to empty his plate, but it took time. JT watched him the whole time, as he finished a while before. He could see Malcolm's eyes closing every once in a while, he could see how tired he was.

"Alright, you've eaten, now time for bed."

"I can't."

"Of course, you can. I'll help you get changed and to bed." JT couldn't understand why Malcolm had even bothered dressing in a suit and tie to come to the precinct when he should've been in the hospital.

"No, I mean, I can't sleep."

"You look exhausted, I don't think insomnia will cause you much trouble."

"JT, please, tell me about the case. I need a distraction, something to keep me from thinking about the pain. I have to stay awake." Malcolm watched JT who went to his room, clearly looking to find him a change of clothes.

"I'm not doing any of that." JT found sweat pants and a long sleeve t-shirt that he put on the bed and he headed back to the kitchen to get Malcolm.

"Then go, I don't need you here."

JT paused. Malcolm had sounded almost rude, that struck him as weird, or weirder than usual.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bright, so you better tell me why you don't want to sleep."

"I want to sleep, I just can't." There was a powerlessness in Malcolm's eyes that saddened JT. "The night terrors will only have been made worse by, you know, what happened. And there's no way the restraints will fit over the cast. If I sleep, I'll only injure myself further."

Malcolm looked down and JT's eyes followed his. The tremor was back. And it was clear from Malcolm's groan that it was painful. There was a reason doctors had said to move the hand as little as possible and wrapped it in a cast while the break healed. Without thinking about it, or even knowing why, JT wrapped his arms around Malcolm.

"What..."

"I don't know, man, it just felt like you might need a hug."

"Okay."

"I was really worried about you, you know. You scared us all."

"I'm sorry."

Malcolm hugged back. They stood there silently for a minute before JT pulled back.

"I could hold you." He said.

"Hold me?"

"While you sleep. If you're comfortable with that of course. Instead of the restraints, I could hold you."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. You're too small to do any real damage."

"You'd be surprised."

"Look, it'll be alright, trust me."

"As long as you're sure."

Malcolm changed. They settled in the bed and JT wrapped his arms around Malcolm again, holding him tight against him so he'd feel safe. He tried to stay awake until Malcolm had dozed off, but, despite it being the middle of the day, he couldn't. Night terrors woke them both late in the afternoon. Malcolm was trashing all around and his cast hit JT in the face.

"It's okay, Malcolm, you're okay." JT said as he pulled him close into his lap. "You're safe, I'm here."

Malcolm opened his eyes, his breathing slowly going back to normal as he turned to look at JT.

"Your face. It's going to make a bruise. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, as long as you're okay."

"I am." Malcolm smiled. "Thanks to you."

JT smiled too, happy to have provided even a little bit of comfort. Malcolm turned his head, so their noses grazed each other, then, slowly, put his mouth on JT's. JT not only kissed him back, but pushed him gently down on the bed. Malcolm felt safe with him, for once in his life, he wasn't afraid to be himself completely around someone he liked. He put his left hand behind JT's head and pulled him closer.

"You know, I'm glad you didn't listen to me and stayed."

"Yeah, so am I, now shut up."

They both smiled and resumed kissing. The sun started to set without them noticing. When they opened their eyes, slightly out of breath, it was dark. JT rolled on his back and Malcolm let his head rest in the nape of his neck, his hand wrapped around his waist.

"You know, it's weird, I always feel like I'm on the outside looking in, but somehow you make me feel like I'm part of the team, like I belong somewhere."

"Do I really?"

Malcolm nodded and looked up at JT. He was smiling. They were both smiling.

"I'm really happy right now." JT said. "But you still need more sleep."

JT gave Malcolm a kiss on the forehead and pulled the blanket back over them. They just lay there, arms wrapped around each other, comfortable in the warmth of their bodies, and waited until Malcolm finally went back to sleep.


End file.
